


Lemon Seeds

by Dream_Emporium



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-27 20:10:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17168585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dream_Emporium/pseuds/Dream_Emporium
Summary: An unexpected visitor arrives at the Baudelaire's baby shower to deliver a few home truths





	Lemon Seeds

Bertrand was happy. That may not have seemed like much to most people. In fact, Bertrand had always appeared to have everything. He came from a large, privileged family who were very close. He'd been a brilliant apprentice in his early VFD years and had gone on to succeed beyond expectations in several assignments. He started his own experiment with lions that the organization was proud to make use of and helped his best friend create a secret, underwater library. Yet for all that, the truth behind his success was his loneliness. Bertrand had never managed to get more than two consecutive dates in a row. He was handsome but very much what some coin a nerd and, according to several girls he'd actually been out with, inept - a phrase which here means "a bit socially behind".   
Then, by some bizarre and rather unfortunate twist of fate, he'd run into an associate one evening at a candlelit restaurant. He'd recognized her instantly. He'd seen her often enough, his heart fluttering each time he did. He frantically searched his brain for her name but he couldn't recall it. She was gazing around the restaurant, clearly bored, when she met his eyes. She recognized him too and smiled. Bertrand returned it. He tried to give her a little wave and tipped his glass of water over. He caught it before much spilled. She was looking back at her own table, giggling to herself.   
He sighed. Bertrand knew he'd never have a shot with a woman like her anyway. Snicket, he thought suddenly. That was her name! Then he inwardly shook his head. No, that wasn't quite right. She was related to them somehow, though. Then it struck him. She was Lemony Snicket's fiancee. Bertrand knew Jacques much better than he knew Lemony. In fact, the only thing he really knew about the younger Snicket was that they'd had the same VFD chaperon. B – something. He still couldn't remember it although her name definitely started with a B. Bertrand looked around casually, wondering where Lemony was. It was rare that one of them was seen without the other. They'd been peas in a pod since they were children and it was really no surprise to anyone that they were getting married. He shrugged to himself. Perhaps L was posing as a waiter or was at another table. If there was a stake-out tonight, Bertrand hadn't heard about it.   
Their eyes met again. They both smiled awkwardly. Bertrand used the sweat on his water glass to draw an eye on the back of his menu, then stealthily held it up as if he was just taking another look at the dinner selections. He wanted to talk to her yet didn't want to interfere if there was something going on that he wasn't privy to. B shook her head. He tried motioning to her, asking where Lemony was or what she was doing there alone. She desperately started pointing back at him. He gave her a confused looked and she replied with the ASL sign for 'fire'. Bertrand realized he'd let the menu droop in his hand. It was positioned over a candle and the corner had caught light. He gasped and tried to shake it out. He only fanned the flames and made them bigger. He threw it on the floor and began stomping on it. A man in a tuxedo approached him.  
“I realize the prices here are rather high, but really sir -”  
“What? No! No, it's just that I, er -” he sputtered. Judging by the host's expression, Bertrand decided it may not be wise to tell the man he'd set the menu on fire. “I apologize. I thought there was an venomous insect on it, but I was mistaken. It won't happen again.”  
The host gave him a look before going back about his business. Bertrand snuck a look at B who was giggling behind her own menu. He sheepishly laid the menu on the other side of the table, switching it for the one across from him, praying no one would notice it had been damaged. He sighed. This was like his school days all over again. He'd always done something idiotic while trying to impress girls out of his league. When he took another peek, B was smiling at him, still laughing lightly. She wasn't like the 'cool' kids of yesteryear who were laughing at him to mock him. She was laughing with him. Her eyes gave him the impression that she liked him.   
After a long debate with himself, Bertrand decided to talk to her. He stood up from the table rather suddenly before he could change his mind. He hadn't even seen the waiter about to pass his table until they collided. An entire tray of food and drinks went down in the commotion. The waiter was furious and gave Bertrand a very black look. Still clutching a pitcher of water, the waiter raised it threateningly. They stared at each other for a moment.  
“Larry?” Bertrand gasped.  
“Bertrand!” Larry 's face changed from anger to surprise. He laughed from it. “I'm glad you said something. I was about to let you have it! What are you doing here? Is there something on tonight?”  
“No, not as far as I know. I was just having dinner. Then I saw one of our associates and – oh no, look out, here comes trouble,” Bertrand warned.  
The same suited man approached them. “You again? Look, I don't know what your game is, but I suggest you play it elsewhere!”  
“It was my fault, sir,” Larry immediately replied. “I should have let him pass me. I wasn't watching where I was going. The customer is first, after all.”   
He glared at the two of them. “Get back to work,” he barked to Larry, then cast his eyes to Bertrand. “And you...” The host wagged a finger at him. He clearly wanted to say something nasty but as he couldn't prove Bertrand had done anything wrong, the wind was taken out of his sails. “You just watch it, buddy.”  
Bertrand really wanted to say 'watch what', though he thought better of it. “Yes, sir,” he said, with a small bow.  
The host humphed, pushing past him and strode off.   
“I'm really sorry about this,” Bertrand told Larry. “If they dock your wages for it, let me know, I'll reimburse you.”  
“He won't,” Larry said. “Or I should say, he can't. The owner is one of us. I'm the eyes around here if you'll pardon the pun. What's a few dishes against the fate of the world?”  
“I suppose you're right,” Bertrand laughed. “I'm sorry to make more work for you, anyway. Give my regards to J.”  
They shook hands. Larry headed off to the kitchen and Bertrand went across the way to Beatrice's table. She was laughing so hard that she was using one of the cloth napkins to dab her eyes.  
“I was unaware that this dinner included a show,” she grinned, extending a gloved hand.  
Bertrand gently shook it. “I wasn't aware that I'd be performing. Do you mind if I sit for a minute?”  
“Not at all! I'd be grateful for some company.”  
“Oh? You're alone?”  
“Yes – is it that surprising?” She smiled.  
“Only a little. I don't believe I've ever seen you on your own before. Where is Lemony?”  
Her expression suddenly fell. She cast her eyes downward and her entire face changed. Bertrand was unsure what to call it – pain, perhaps? Most definitely sadness.   
“You must not have heard yet,” Beatrice said.   
She reached into her purse and pulled out a newspaper. She unfolded it and handed it across the table. An article caught his eye off to the side.  
FORMER CRITIC, SNICKET, DEAD, the headline read. Then in slightly small print, See Obituaries, pg. 6. That page was mostly dedicated to Lemony Snicket, “author and fugitive”, dying despite there not being a time, place or cause of death.   
“ I – I don't even know what to say. Are they sure? I haven't heard anything from the VFD and this is by the Punctilio after all.”  
“It's true,” she replied miserably, her voice breaking a little. She dabbed one of her eyes with a napkin. “I heard from Kit earlier today. She wasn't positive, of course, but the circumstances... he was supposed to be helping with a literal fire. It all went terribly wrong. The other side, they... there were explosives hidden...” Tears were falling fast from her eyes now. She didn't try to stop them as she had been. “They saw him walk into the building a few minutes before it went up. There was nothing left. There's no way he could have survived.”  
“I'm so sorry. Truly.” Bertrand reached over and put a hand on hers.   
She nodded. “I'm sorry. I know I'm terrible company. I didn't want to be out tonight, but when I got home and looked around my apartment and I couldn't stand to be alone.”  
“You don't have anything to apologize for,” he smiled gently. “I know what you're going through. It's awful.”  
“Really?” She looked up at him. She sighed deeply. “Look at me, putting all my troubles on you. You must think I'm terribly rude. I haven't even asked your name.”   
“No, not at all! I'm Bertrand, by the way. I've been a complete buffoon until now, setting menus on fire and tripping waiters. We'll call it even.”  
She laughed lightly, sniffed and wiped her eyes. “What a pair we make. I'm Beatrice. And... thank you.”  
“For what?”  
“Making me smile tonight. I didn't think I'd ever laugh again.”  
It wasn't long after that that the two were married. They ended up getting marooned on an island while on their honeymoon, yet when all was said and done, they couldn't complain. They were far from VFD and the troubles of the world. A series of unfortunate events had brought them together but it quickly faded into memory. Only a few months went by when Beatrice discovered that she was pregnant. They were shocked but thrilled. The Baudelaires decided to leave their island home to go back to the city where they'd met. They couldn't force a child to live in such a secluded place, even if it was safe. Life was about living and what was living without risk? The schism and its fires were burning itself out from what little communication they'd received. Their home, they decided, would always be a safe place, but their days of volunteering were over.  
The baby came slightly past due in the middle of winter. Beatrice had wanted to deliver it in the warmth and safety of their own home. After several hours, however, she put her fist through a wall with a scream that most of their neighbors heard and demanded morphine. Bertrand was too terrified to argue. The hospital admitted her immediately though he suspected it had something to do with the fact that while registering, she called a doctor a very rude name while tearing a magazine clean in half. The effects of the morphine were mercifully instant. Their daughter was born in the wee hours of the morning.  
Later the same day, they were already getting visitors. They were surprised at the interest and love they received. After all these years, their friends of VFD still cared about them. Beatrice was positively glowing from all the affection. Bertrand could tell it made her very emotional to see so many friends from their past. It wasn't until Kit and Jacques Snicket arrived that she really lost it. They had been like family when she'd lost hers. They would have been and nearly were a proper family until she and Lemony were forced apart. Bertrand felt like he was intruding on something as he watched them. He stood by awkwardly, trying to think of something he could say, when Kit gathered him up in a bear hug that he didn't expect such a small person to give. He knew he was welcomed then.  
She asked to hold the baby. As soon as she was placed in Kit's arms, Kit burst into happy tears.  
“I don't think you'll get her back now,” Jacques teased. “You know how fast Kit runs.”  
“Are you having a shower?” Kit asked.  
“I hope so. I know I smell,” Beatrice replied.  
“No, for the baby!” Kit laughed. “You just gave birth, you deserve to smell.”  
Beatrice laughed. “Don't mind me, it's the drugs talking. We hadn't thought about it. I don't know. Do you think it's safe?”  
“Absolutely. The fire-starters have been quieted for now. There's more of us than there are of them. Besides, people miss you. I know for sure the Quagmires would come. The Poes, too. Not to mention the Duchess. Jerome. Monty. The Anwhistles. The Widdershins. Bea, there are loads of people who would love to see you two again!”  
“And my own family – goodness knows there are plenty of them,” Bertrand added.   
“Think of all the loot you'd get! You wouldn't have to buy diapers for a while,” Jacques grinned.  
“Oh, well, in that case, we definitely should,” Beatrice grinned.  
Within the week, Kit helped her send out the invitations. Beatrice tried her hardest to get housework done but the baby made it nearly impossible. Violet wanted to be fed every other hour and in between made a dirty diapers and spit up. There was so much that Beatrice wanted to do with her and show her. She wanted Violet to see the public library, the park, the beach and all of the shops and museums they loved. When it came down to it, the poor new mother could hardly get out of bed. By the time Violet was a week old, Beatrice was so sleep deprived that she put oatmeal in the coffee pot and poured coffee grounds in a bowl with milk. Bertrand helped her, although he was just as tired. They'd been taking turns on the night shift, but the fact was, they both woke up when they heard a cry. Kit came to check on them the next day and had to let herself in with the hidden key. Bertrand was fast asleep at the breakfast table, the newspaper open, his fingers still curled around the handle of a mug. Beatrice was in the nursery. She greeted Kit with a rather dopey smile. Kit leaned over the changing table, intending to tickle Violet's stomach and was startled by what she saw.  
“Bea? I don't mean to criticize but isn't that rather a waste of diapers?”  
“I suppose I do change her often. I wouldn't like her to be uncomfortable though. Do you really think it's too much?”  
“No, no, it's perfectly fine, it's just... you do know that's not a baby, right?”  
“Hm? What?”  
“You've just put a diaper on a teddy bear.”  
“Huh?” Beatrice looked down and gasped. “Violet! Where'd she go?”  
Kit tried to keep herself from laughing. It was difficult especially when, in her panic, Beatrice actually lifted up the bear to check under it. Calmly, Kit walked over to the crib and lifted Violet out.   
“I think you'd better get some rest,” Kit said, gently patting her friend's back. “I'll look after her.”  
The Baudelaires slept most of the day. Kit didn't mind. She loved the baby as if it were her niece. She called Jacques and asked if he could watch Violet that night. The shower wasn't for another two days and they wanted the Baudelaires to be able to enjoy themselves. Violet seemed to be getting into a regular schedule and became more predictable. She was hardly getting a chance to cry because they were anticipating it. The Snickets made themselves at home in Violet's nursery and took watch in six hour shifts. By the time the party arrived, they were just as worn out as her parents.   
It was still worth it for them to see the joy on the Baudelaires faces that night as their guests arrived. They were proud though somewhat anxious. If Beatrice had had her way, everyone would've gone through a sanitizer. All of them obliged her by washing their hands to their elbows very thoroughly. The ones who had already had children understood.   
“Scrubbed down the whole Queequeg, aye,” Widdershins nodded. “I didn't even want to take Fiona to the surface at all, aye. In fact, we made people change suits after coming aboard, and we'd scrubbed them down as well, aye!”  
“I still don't want my Edgar out in public for long,” Mrs. Poe said. “There are such odd people about! And of course, you never know what someone might do to a banker's son.”  
“Look at this.” Elizabeth Quagmire said. She showed them that her umbrella had a rather sinister feature of being able to turn into a sword. “Of course, I don't get out much, for obvious reasons. I can't think what sort of villain would try to assault a pregnant woman, but if it happens, they'll get a nasty surprise, I can tell you!” Mrs. Quagmire was only a few months pregnant. They were expecting triplets and the poor woman was already looking like she could be at the end of her term with one child.   
Everyone had filtered into the kitchen. Beatrice had made all kinds of little appetizers. She relaxed once people had settled into mingling until someone caught her eye. Her mouth dropped open. She had no idea what to make of what she was seeing and wondered if she was hallucinating. She hurried to find Bertrand who was chatting to Jacques.   
“Hello,” she smiled to them briefly before turning a very worried expression to her husband. “I think... I think we've got a problem.”  
“What? Are you alright, darling? Do you need to lie down?”  
“No, it's only – oh! Where's the baby?” She gasped.  
“She's in the bassinet in the living room. Beatrice, what's wrong, love?”  
“Look to the right, near the hall. Please tell me that isn't who I think it is.”  
Both of the men looked. Both of them were equally surprised.   
“It is, isn't it?” she whispered, fear obvious in her voice. She sounded as if she were going to cry. “It's Olaf.”  
“Right,” Jacques said, cracking his knuckles. “I'll grab Kit. Don't you worry about a thing, we'll take care of this.”  
Bertrand put a protective arm around his wife. He could feel that every muscle in her body was tensed. He wanted to reassure her yet it was difficult when he himself was on pins and needles.   
The Duchess of Winnipeg was his wife's oldest and dearest friend. She always seemed to know instinctively when something was amiss. She was at Beatrice's side in the next second. She demanded to know what was wrong. Rebecca, or R as she was better known as, became very still and her face radiated a steely calm that would terrify Olaf.  
“Ok. This is what we're going to do. Beatrice, go to Violet. Bertrand, we'll move all of the guests into the living room. Open a window and jam it in case he tries to start a fire. Don't tell anybody that he's here. He wants us to be afraid and we're not going to give that to him. I don't think anyone else has noticed him, so I think in this case, ignorance is bliss. Carry on as if nothing is wrong. Keep the world quiet here.”   
Beatrice set off for the living room immediately. Rebecca put on her best hostess smile and addressed the gathering.  
“Alright, everyone! It's time to get down to business. Let's not keep our new mother waiting! If I could have everyone follow Bertrand to the living room, we'll get started on those presents. You're welcome to take your plates with you.”  
As their guests began to filter into the other room, Kit rushed back to find Bertrand.   
“The good news is that he hasn't been spying on you. Apparently he saw the invitation at the Spats'.”  
“They're in with him?” Rebecca asked, disgusted. “Not that it's any skin off my nose. I never liked them wholeheartedly, anyway. I could tolerate James, but Shelby was always such a – well, it doesn't matter. At least we know now.”  
Kit nodded. “We'll tell people about them later. I'm not really sure why Olaf is here. He doesn't have anything on him and he says he's alone. I buy it. His hygiene has gone south and I can't see anyone wanting to get too close to him. He says he came for the food but he's always been a sarcastic fonferer. We finally got it out of him that he wants to talk to you two. He said that was it – just to talk. I threatened him that Jacques and I would stay there and he actually agreed. I don't know what to think, Bertrand. I'm sure he's telling the truth about that, though. He's always done this stupid nostril flaring thing when he lies.”  
“He can talk to me, but me only. He's not going to see Beatrice.”  
“And I'll take Beatrice and Violet away if he tries anything funny,” Rebecca put in.  
“I'll let him know. Are you sure you don't want us to toss him out?”  
Bertrand shrugged. “If I'm honest Kit, I feel that after everything we've done to him, I can at least hear whatever nonsense he's come to say.”  
“You don't feel sorry for him, do you?” Rebecca gasped.  
“A bit. I know, call me crazy.”  
“I felt sorry for him at first,” Kit admitted. “I might still if he hadn't dealt with things through arson and murder.”  
The three friends were silent for a moment, each wondering what the world may have been like if they hadn't gone to the opera that night. Kit finally tried to smile and told Bertrand to enjoy his party. Bertrand went to a kitchen drawer and fished around until he produced a pair of handcuffs.   
“You've been so good to us. I want you and Jacques to enjoy the party too. Take these and clamp him to anything that won't move. Then you can come join us.”  
“See, the problem is that Jacques doesn't really enjoy this kind of thing.”  
The three of them laughed. Kit went back to Bertrand's office and cuffed Olaf to the heavy oak desk, nearly slapping him for the lewd remark he made. She and her twin rejoined the party, happy to see that Beatrice had relaxed again and was laughing with the rest of her friends.  
“Bertrand, come here!” She called, beaming. “Look what Jerome gave us. Isn't this precious?”  
He settled in next to his wife. Monty handed Violet to him. The baby squirmed a little and made a high, squeaky noise, then nestled back down. It got an endearing reaction from their friends. She got an even bigger one when she sneezed for the first time, scared herself and began to cry.  
The Baudelaires were amazed by the generosity of their friends. Rebecca gave them a swing that worked automatically, had toys attached and played music, along with an engraved silver cup of Violet's name in Hebrew letters. The Snickets gave her a beautiful silver necklace of David's star along with a small zoo of stuffed animals and a rather sophisticated set of diaperbags that were full of other baby needs. The Quagmires gave them baby monitors, plus a large play mat with an overhanging mobile where all kinds of brain-stimulating dangled. It even morphed into different toys as she grew so that she'd be able to use it until she was two. Each gift also contained a case or two of diapers, just as Kit had predicted.   
After the gifts, Kit went to the kitchen to start serving the cake. Beatrice had to sneak off to feed Violet. When she returned, several of their friends had finished their cake and asked to hold Violet. Beatrice was reluctant to let Violet go though she also wanted to show the baby off. In the end, she let them pass her daughter around. Violet was too sleepy to care. She gurgled a few times and made noises at several people, but otherwise stayed sound asleep. The party lasted for another hour before anyone started to leave. When the last of their friends had gone, Bertrand told his wife what he was planning.  
“Are you sure you want to go alone?”  
“He doesn't scare me,” Bertrand lied, hoping he sounded confident. “Besides, Jacques and Kit are staying. He couldn't take all four of us.”  
“Just be careful. I can't lose you.”  
The way she lost Lemony, Bertrand thought. Beatrice kissed him deeply. Violet made a discontented sound as she was squished between them. Bertrand laughed then kissed her too. The second he stepped into the hall, panic began to set in. His heart-rate increased with every step he took toward the office. He could hardly open the door because his palms were so slick with sweat. He took a deep breath and let himself in.  
He said nothing despite his shock at seeing Olaf for the first time in years. The count had changed dramatically. He was thinner and gaunt, his cheeks more hollow and his haunted eyes were much darker. Olaf's hygiene had indeed taken a turn for the worse. His hair was turning grey, but it was hard to tell what other colors it might have been due to the grease build up. Olaf's entire face appeared to be in need of a good scrub. His clothes were dingy and torn in places. When Bertrand went to uncuff him, he could smell sweat and other odors he didn't want to consider.   
“Some host,” Olaf huffed, rubbing his wrist. “Do you usually play this party game?”  
“Only when people turn up completely uninvited.”  
The count humphed. “You must be very popular with Christmas carolers and salesmen.”  
“What do you want, Olaf?”  
“Can't a fellow be curious? Or is that a crime to you people now? I was merely surprised to hear that you had a baby. I didn't know you had it in you! If I recall, you couldn't even get undressed in the showers after gym. Then there was that notebook you used to carry when you -”  
“I was fourteen. At least I've matured since then.”  
“Matured like a very dull cheese.”  
The two lapsed into a silence. Bertrand didn't want to give him an open to insult him again. Olaf waited for more questions, enjoying the irritation on Bertrand's face. He looked at the desk, picked up a picture of Bertrand and Beatrice at their wedding and chuckled.  
"Who do you think you're fooling?" He finally asked. "She doesn't really love you."  
Bertrand rolled his eyes. "No, she doesn't. That's why she married me."  
"I mean her heart belongs to Lemony."  
An invisible dagger twisted in his heart, but Bertrand refused to let it show. "I know that. I've always known that. She was going to be his bride, after all. We've already talked it through. Lemony is, as you'll recall, dead. I'm well aware that a piece of her will always belong to him but the rest of her future is with me."  
"Certain pieces more than others. If you catch my drift," Olaf snickered.  
"If you're referring to the fact that she wasn't a virgin when we met, then don't bother. I knew that too. I know exactly what you're trying to do. You won't ruin our marriage the way you ruined your own relationships. You could've had everything with Kit and you know it. You're just a bitter, lonely man, Olaf. What you don't know is that we forgave you a long time ago. We've admitted that what we did to you was wrong. We' couldn't be more sorry. I know that won't being your parents back and that's going to be with us forever. You still have a choice. Even after all you've done, Olaf, you could still come back to us. You're not too far gone. We were friends once. We could be again."  
"I refuse to be friends with a liar and a murderer."  
"Then why have you come here?"  
"Plain and simple revenge, old friend. I want your daughter to have this."  
Olaf held out a small, black box. Bertrand glared at him. He let Olaf drop it into his hand, then suspiciously opened the lid. Inside was was tiny dart, no more than an inch big, with a rusted needle on one end and tiny eye on the other. Bertrand felt his hands beginning to shake.  
"What is this?"  
"A promise. One day Baudelaire, I'll give that child the same kindness all of you showed to me. She'll know the darkness, pain, secrets and misery that lurks in the shadows of the world. She will have no one to turn to, because I will be there, around every corner, waiting with someone to betray her. She'll be another Victim For Death, alone, with no friends or support. No parents." Olaf's eyes shone brightly in dim light, his yellowing teeth protruding from his vile grin. "When you least expect it, everything you've worked so hard to achieve will crumble around you in flame and smoke; and while you choke on the ashes, you will remember this night. Your end is only the beginning of horror for that child and I've only begun to collect the debt you owe me."  
"Get. Out." Bertrand threw the box, trembling with rage. "Get out of my house, you evil bastard!"  
Bertrand grabbed the front of Olaf's tarnished suit jacket. He wasn't sure what he intended to do next. To his great, surprise, Olaf began to laugh.  
"Peculiar choice of words," he chuckled.  
"What?"  
"That wasn't the only gift I came with tonight. The other was for you."  
"If you want to kill me-"  
"Please," Olaf chuckled. "Where is the fun in making such a terrific threat and carrying it out immediately? No, no, no. The child needs to grow to know you, love you and lead an idyllic life like the one I once had. She'll have plenty of time with you."  
"Stop talking about my daughter!" Bertrand bellowed in his face.   
"You always did have a temper. You could also use a mint," Olaf grinned, pushing Bertrand away. "The other gift I brought was knowledge. That's always what the VFD is after, isn't it? A little insight. I intended to tell you a story. You've always been a bookworm and I know how you appreciate a decent historical chronicle, however, if you're going to be violent about this -"  
Bertrand was too enraged and too confused to speak. Olaf took his silence as an agreement to continue.  
"This particular story goes back a few years. A boy met a girl and they fell deeply in love. They were the perfect star crossed lovers. The boy proposed marriage, the girl said yes and everything was right in the world. At least, it would have been. You see, there was a spot of trouble. A few fires here and some poorly written news articles there. This boy landed in quite a heap of trouble. Enough trouble that he was being sent away. He couldn't bring himself to tell the girl, any more than she could tell him that she already knew. 200 pages and one ring later, they were separated permanently. He was spirited away by his siblings and the girl? Well, she stayed right where she had always been and watched the world burn all around her with nothing but a broken heart. That's what his siblings would tell you, anyway, because that's all they know. It turns out they had one last rendezvous before he went away forever. Ironically, the very next night, she'd meet ta man in a restaurant. The man she would share what was left of her life with. There was a rather fast wedding. The honeymooners were tragically shipwrecked on an island. Of course, when they returned, there were three of them. It seems she had taken a passenger with them because when they came back nine months later, it was to find a hospital."   
"What is your point?"  
"Are you really that dense?" Olaf laughed. "Alright, since you don't understand my cryptic tale: Lemony and Beatrice had one last fling together. She met you the next day. You two got married awful fast and her pregnancy was even faster. That never seemed suspicious to you?"  
"If you're trying to humiliate us, I can tell you it won't work. What do you want me to say? Yes. Beatrice and I had sex before we were married. We had an unplanned pregnancy. That might shock a few people we know, but I doubt they would truly care. We're married now and we love our child more than anything."  
"They always said you were lacking socially, but I thought you'd grow out of it. Do I have to spell it out for you? I guess I do since you clearly don't understand anything not written down. Ironic, as there are plenty of cheap romance books like this."  
"Cut the insults and tell me whatever it is you came to say!"  
"That kid isn't yours."  
The silence that followed was so complete that Bertrand could hear his pulse. "That's... that's absurd," he eventually managed.  
"Is it?"  
"You're only saying this to drive us apart. I won't let you slander my wife in her own house!"  
"I'm telling you this because it's true - and because it's fun. Slander is an ugly word. It strikes of false accusations. What I've told you is fact. If you don't believe me, you can always ask Beatrice. That's a show I would pay to see!" Olaf snorted in amusement at his own joke. "You've given me the best idea yet for my troupe's summer play. I think we'll call it 'Lemon Seeds'. It's really too bad that the audience won't get a proper end. I'd kill to see your next move but due to the color you've gone, I rather think I've overstayed my welcome. Still, a cliffhanger is one of the best ends ever invented!"  
Olaf gave Bertrand a forceful shove backwards. He sprinted towards the double windows, flung himself over the parapet and was racing across the lawn before Bertrand could regain his balance. He stared at the open windows. It seemed like a nightmare now that Olaf was gone. Had it been? He shuffled over a few steps, stubbing his toe on an armchair. The pain was real enough. He'd never had this kind of heartache in a dream, either.   
The man was an infamous liar, Bertrand told himself. Even when he'd been an upstanding volunteer, Olaf was sneaky, conniving, and used underhanded methods to achieve his ends. And yet, he'd always come through when it came to hearing home truths. Home truths, Bertrand knew, was the sort of reality that was true, but no one liked to hear. Olaf loved to dole them out. Bertrand remembered his friend Dewey saying that the only time he'd ever trust Olaf was in the event of a disaster or death because he'd be pleased as punch to give you the grim details of both.   
Bertrand sat down on the chair, head in his hands and tried to come up with a reason that Olaf might lie about this. He hated Lemony and would love to continue to smear his name, but Snicket would need to be alive for this ploy to work. He hated Beatrice just as much. Bertrand knew Olaf would love nothing more than to see her living in isolation, agony and sorrow for the rest of her days. It seemed a far better scheme to blackmail her though, Bertrand thought. Beatrice was young, beautiful and vibrant. She could, feasibly, find another husband if Bertrand left.  
He thought long and hard. With every excuse he came up with, he felt his heart break a little more and another tear well up in his eye. They spilled out eventually. The only reason he was left with was that Olaf was telling the truth and had come for no other reason than to destroy the only thing he could without a fire – the family itself. Bertrand cried out in anguish, overturning the sidetable next to him. He stood up and flipped the chair over. He began blindly throwing books and knick-knacks. Glass hit the wall and shattered. Several books landed in the fireplace where they quickly curled and burned. He kicked anything that came into his path and pounded the desk with his fists. He punched right through several vases, leaving his knuckles bruised and bloody. He found a friend in that pain. It took his mind off the pain in his heart. He finally sank down behind the desk and wept.  
His mind reeled, twisting and turning down a sick labyrinth that had no end and only grew darker. He had no idea how long he'd been there and heard nothing when the door opened. A figure sat down across from him, gently rubbing his arm. It had the voice of an angel that made his heart squeeze tight every time he heard it.   
The first thing he saw when he looked up was the blanket. Thin enough not to be too hot, yet sufficiently warm and extremely soft. It was white and patterned with purple flowers. Violets. He'd bought himself a few days ago. The blanket wiggled. Bertrand noticed a face, round, pudgy and pink. Impossibly tiny fingers gripped the hem of the blanket. His eye moved up further still and he saw the face of his wife. She was deeply concerned and looked on the verge of tears herself. She laid the baby on her lap before taking his hands in her own.  
"What is it, my love? What did that wicked man say to you?"  
"You. And Snicket. The day before we met, you..." He sobbed, choking on his words. It was some time before he could continue. "Beatrice, please, I have to know. Is this baby mine?"  
She gasped. A look of horror crossed her features. Then her face fell as her perfect world was shattered. She covered her face in her hands and she began to weep too.


End file.
